


A Single Penny

by Arwriter



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Genre: Angst, Confession, Insecurity, Jay Gatsby Lives, Letter, Love, Love Letters, Somewhat, a little bit, because I said so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-18 07:41:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21507586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arwriter/pseuds/Arwriter
Summary: After Jay is nearly killed in his own home, Nick finally builds up the courage to put the words he's needed to say down on paper
Relationships: Nick Carraway/Jay Gatsby
Comments: 5
Kudos: 134





	A Single Penny

Dear Jay, 

When Wilson missed his shot, his drunken aim sloppy and slow, it was the first time I was able to breathe in so long. An odd way to start this letter, I know, and I hope you’ll forgive the suddenness of it all. I’ve been writing this in my head for so long now, but with all that’s happened, I figured it was long past time to put the words on paper. 

Now that I’m finally writing this down, I’m not even sure where to start. There are so many things I want to say, so many places I could start, and yet nothing I write could ever be enough. You were always the one blessed with words, your face adorned with that all concealing smile, your stories flowing easily to entrap your guests, mesmerize them with your tales of grandeur, void of fault or fears. All lies, of course, a facade for your guests, but never a means of deception. It was always a means of hiding. It was what you felt you needed to do. But with me, you were different. I was mesmerized for a different reason altogether. I was enraptured with you, Jay. Not your stories, not your wealth or your parties, but with you. When you were with me, things were different. With me, all your words and stories were told, and those that weren’t became meaningless. You ran out of things to say, but I never minded. You never needed to impress me, never needed to bribe me. 

That didn’t mean you saw it the same way, though. You never said it out loud, but you never needed to. You’re easier to read than you think, Jay, and you wear your desperation on your sleeve. Or perhaps you just allow yourself to be vulnerable in my company. I was never quite sure. 

You bring me gifts when you know I have little in return to give you, and nothing on such short notice. But you never mind, never demand anything from me. You make countless offerings- selfless offerings- of clothes and accessories, of lunches and trips, a frantic show of the security of your wealth. But I can see the look in your eyes, and I can see how fragile you’ve become, like glass on the verge of shattering to countless, tiny pieces. You’ve lost so much in such a short amount of time, the incident with Wilson bringing far from pleasant rumors and gossip, none of them true or fair, but ever-present all the same. Too many people have turned their backs on you, leaving you to fend for yourself whether you lose your money or your life. Money is important to you, I know, but it had almost been your life. And your life is more important to me than you could possibly know. 

I dreamt that Wilson didn’t miss. There was nothing I could have done, forced to sit and listen to the gunshot, listen to your cry of pain, the splash of the pool as you fell, when I was too late. I should have gotten you out of town, I should have known something was destined to go wrong. I should have known something horrible would happen, and I should have protected you. I should have stopped it. Because if that had been how it ended, after everything you had worked for, everything you and I had been through, I wouldn’t have been able to take it. I couldn’t live this life, continue living with these people, without you. 

But when I awoke from the dream, I had been sure it was real. No nightmare could have put an image like that in my head, so clear and vivid. Your blood in the water, swirling crimson lapping at the edges of the pool, you glassy, lifeless eyes clouded over forever, your light that had led me so far from the dark gone just like that. Like it had never been there at all. And the world would move on, leaving me to mourn, to cling to what was only a memory. The world could never erase you, not until I’m gone. Until I saw you next, until I could assure myself that you were alive and breathing, I couldn’t quite catch my breath. My mind replayed your life, your voice, the way you looked at me, spoke to me like no one else had. The way you were different from everyone else. The way I had never told you how much you meant, how important you were. 

But you are alive. You’re safe. I see you almost every day now. But you're far from alright.   
Your gifts are a way to show me that your wealth is still no issue, that nothing has changed, like everything you’ve worked so hard for couldn’t all come crashing down at a moment’s notice. Daisy had married a wealthy man, and your guests had flocked to a rich man’s house for a rich man’s party. And the moment that had began teetering, they’d turned their backs. And you’re terrified I’ll do the same. You won’t admit it, but I can see the terror and worry. I don’t want your offerings, I don’t need them. I never have. But I take them anyway, because you’ve become so fragile, I’m afraid if I refuse you might break. To you, it might seem like a refusal of friendship, or something more profound. 

But I won’t go anywhere, Jay. Not because of a loss of assets, and not because of a loss of reputation. Not for anything. I won’t leave you alone. The money doesn’t matter to me, and it never has. I would have thought you’d have realized that by now, but I’m not quite sure how to get you to understand without spelling it out for you. 

So listen to me when I tell you, that none of it matters to me. None of it. Diamonds or dirt, rags or riches, it's all the same to me. All the money in the world couldn’t make me leave, and I would stay if you had only a single penny to your name.   
I suppose this letter might surprise you, anger you even, but I’m hopeful you’ll understand, and you’ll agree. It’s a declaration of something I’ve never been quite sure how to say, but it’s also a promise. A promise I hope you’ll believe that when I make it again in person. 

We can discuss this more over lunch tomorrow, after you understand just what it is I’m trying to say. 

Truly Yours,   
Nick Carraway

,

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just barely alive, but a gay analysis of Great Gatsby was what finally dragged me kicking and screaming from my depressing grave of writer's block


End file.
